


no town more barren than our town

by feverbeats



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman Beyond, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Nonbinary Character, Other, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:42:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28960398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverbeats/pseuds/feverbeats
Summary: Tim is sharp and cruel in ways Eddie doesn't expect. He bares his teeth at strangers in stores. He snaps at Eddie. Eddie has seen him bite someone, when they called Eddie a nasty name. There was blood on Tim's teeth.Eddie and Tim and gender and trauma and mental illness and recovery. Eddie and Tim have a lot in common, but maybe not enough.  Where their paths intersect, over the years. How the events revealed inBatman Beyond: Return of the Jokerimpact them both.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Edward Nygma
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	no town more barren than our town

**Author's Note:**

> This is arguably the same Eddie from [cartoon graveyard](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1483912), although different things happen to them, and this is a standalone. Canon here is a liberal mix of _Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker_ , various points in the comics (largely late 90's early 00's), a pinch of _Gotham_ and totally made up shit. Playlist is [here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4gtAv7gKw1wdq6wh4l1PYY) The title and all the section titles from from there.
> 
> Warnings: Mental illness, alcohol abuse, violence, unintentional misgendering, references to torture (canon), references to rape.

_part one: that fear that you can't shift_

Tim Drake is anxious. He's been anxious for as long as he can remember, and nobody has ever tried to stop him. His mom talked about sending him to a therapist once, but then she died, and nobody tried anymore. He's been more anxious since then. He's been more anxious since becoming Robin.

He can't show Bruce any of that. It's easy when they're out together, because Tim's hands are always busy, punching, swinging. He can't press them together or rub his thumbs against his palms. He can pick problems apart and assume the worst and those things make him a detective, not a weirdo.

Tonight he and Bruce are in a hotel. Tim's curfew is a thing of the past. He just tells his parents he's staying with Bernard or Steph, whichever one he thinks they'll freak out about less. Bernard is a boy (and Tim is a boy, but not like Bernard is) but Steph is trashy. They'd never say that word, but Tim knows they think it. Anyway, he's come closer to having sex with Steph.

Hotels are liminal spaces. Tim can't make himself at home here. Bruce is a liminal space here, too. Not Bruce, not Batman. He's wearing civilian clothes but he's not Bruce. If he were Bruce--and Tim were someone else--Tim would make a joke about how weird it's got to look, Bruce Wayne checking into a hotel with a teenage boy. But tonight Tim is Bruce's assistant, if anyone asks.

Tim is wearing one of his dad's shirts. It's a green checkered one, way too big for him. He grabbed it from the laundry by accident a few months ago and just kept it. He's not the kind of kid who usually wears things that don't fit, but if he hides his hands in the too-long sleeves, they don't scrabble at each other.

"Hey Bruce?" Tim says. Bruce doesn't turn. He's looking at his computer. "I'm going to grab a soda."

Bruce nods. "Be careful. I think they're here already."

Tim nods back and slips out. He tries to imagine Poison Ivy and her henchmen in an identical hotel room, just sitting around in civilian clothes too. What would that look like for her? A lab coat?

Tim breathes a little easier when he's in the hall. Being close to Bruce without the suit feels weird. With the suit, he's just Robin. Bruce can pretend he's whoever--Dick or Jason or just Robin. But without it, he's painfully aware of the ways in which he isn't like the others. It's not just that he's lacking things. He has things they don't have. Things he shouldn't. Parents. Breasts. Stuff that makes him bad at being Robin.

He's wearing his binder under his dad's shirt, not that it matters. It's most about how he feels. Figuring out how he feels is hard, and it's harder now. It's easier to just be Robin, so sometimes he's Robin in his head for days, and the stuff he has stops mattering. He wonders if Bruce has the same problem. He thinks so.

He finds the soda machine and gets a Green Fiz, which he always thinks should have an extra z. He can hear the buzz of talk down the hall, from one of the other rooms. With his oversized shirt and the weird feeling of being on the outside of everything, he feels like a kid. It's soothing for a minute. He pops the soda open and instead of turning back to the room, he walks down the empty halls to find the pool.

The pool itself is huge, but the room is impressive even outside of that. It's full of plants--full trees, in some cases. It's like a jungle. Tim could lose himself here.

The room is almost empty. Across the pool is a young person, probably a few years older than Tim. They have orangey hair and they're wearing a black evening dress and a fur stole. The kind of person Tim sees at school fundraisers and stuff. Except those people aren't usually--guys? Trans girls? Tim's not sure. He shouldn't be staring. The fur stole person is going to think he's a creep or a jerk.

Tim realizes he's far back enough between some of the plants that the other person hasn't seen him. He takes a breath and presses his palms together. He feels invisible, in a horrible way. Sometimes it's a good skill, but today it feels awful.

Tim closes his eyes and tries to conjure up Robin, but he can't.

Someone else comes in, from the opposite entrance. It's a tall woman, looking more like she's dressed for a heist than a party. She crosses to the one in the fur stole.

"No sign of them?" she asks. She has an accent Tim can't place. This can't be someone working with Ivy, can it?

The one in the stole says, "No. Talia, can't I go? I'm not any help. This isn't my kind of thing."

Talia laughs. "That's just what she said you'd say before we left. She said you're an expert in learned helplessness. She picked that up from her girlfriend, I think."

The other one sighs. "God," they say. "God, god. Just let me go."

Tim crouches down slowly to make sure they can't see him. Is this a kidnapping?

"I can't let you go," Talia says. "Who else--" She frowns, looking at her phone. "I have to go. Don't go anywhere. You get cold feet, I'll cut them off." She strides out.

"God, _fuck_ ," the person in the fur stole says, when the door has not quite closed behind Talia. Even from here, Tim can see the amount of diamond jewelry this person is wearing. Earrings, bracelet, necklace. He takes a breath and steps out from the foliage.

"Oh, hi," he says. "I didn't realize anyone else would be in here this time of night."

The other person, who started when they saw Tim, takes a step back, frowning, even though there's a whole pool between them. "Oh. Hi?"

Their voice is so familiar, but Tim can't place them. "I'm Tim," he says.

"Eddie."

Tim feels a jolt of recognition. Wait. But no, it _is_ the Riddler. The domino mask doesn't make that much of a difference (and Tim shouldn't think about that too hard). Thankfully, Eddie's face remains a blank.

"What are you all dressed up for?" Tim asks, hoping to play like he's a stupid teenage boy.

Eddie relaxes a fraction. "It's a long story," he says. "Listen, kid, you don't want to be around here tonight. There's so much bad shit about to go down."

"Huh? What bad shit?" Whatever it is, Tim is starting to realize it's more than he and Bruce expected.

"Believe me when I tell you I can't communicate that in a clear and concise way," Eddie says. God, is Tim this transparent when he's being Tim?

"Okay," Tim says. "Weird. Well, I was gonna swim." Really, he couldn't have thought of any other reason to stay? He kicks his sneakers off and sits by the edge of the pool, trying to think if he can place Talia as someone he should know, too. He doesn't think so. He should text Bruce.

He pulls out his phone and texts Bruce: _come to the pool._ It's not great that he can't slip out of here and get into costume. And also, what is the Riddler doing here in an evening dress and diamonds? Bruce would probably be able to figure the whole thing out.

Eddie, on the other side of the pool, sits, too. Tim realizes he's barefoot.

"I'm having a really shitty night, do you know that?" Eddie says.

Good opportunity. "Oh yeah?" Tim says. "Why?"

"I'm supposed to open a safe," Eddie says. "But I can't tell you how bad it's going to be if I do. Also." He gestures at the outfit. "This wasn't the plan. None of this was the plan."

"What was the plan?"

Tim must have sounded too sharp, because Eddie pauses and looks at him. "I just wanted to go out to a club and have some fun," he says. "But it never ends up that way! What's always in front of you but can't be seen?"

"The future," Tim answers automatically. He's good at riddles.

"Yeah," Eddie says wearily. "That's right." Then his eyes get wide, and Tim realizes Eddie is looking past him--

It all happens so fast. Even after, Tim can't say quite what happened. He knows there's gunfire, and he sees a flash of something dark that must be Bruce. But most importantly, he's hauled into the air by the ankle and flung violently from side to side. There's green everywhere, much more than there should be.

Tim curls until a ball as much as he can, but then the vines whip him into the water and hold him there. He can't swim like he should, because his over-large shirt keeps tangling around him. He panics for a second before swimming his way out of it. Now, in just soaked jeans and his binder, he thinks for a second he can get free.

But there are too many vines, wrapping around his wrists, his waist, his neck. Then one slaps him across the face and he blacks out.

He comes to on his back on the poolside floor. He's coughing and coughing, and his head hurts. Eddie is kneeling next to him, looking panicked. He's soaking wet and the dress is torn all the way up his leg.

"Fuck," he says. "I cannot _believe_ that worked. I didn't think I knew CPR."

Tim keeps coughing. Where is Bruce? Who got shot? He drags himself onto his knees and looks around.

If Tim had thought the room as a jungle before, it really is now. The plants are everywhere, even on the ceiling. He can't see if Bruce is there or not.

"I can probably get you home, kid," Eddie is saying.

"No thanks," Tim says roughly. "Where's my shirt?"

"Uh, in the pool," Eddie says. "Sorry. I'm not--I won't--" He shakes his head at Tim. "Sorry. This is so fucked up."

Tim wraps his arms around himself. He is not going to be able to help barefoot in just his binder. "Where's Batman?" he asks. "Wasn't Batman here?"

"He was," Eddie says. "He's off fighting Talia and Ivy. Who, honestly, are the worst. The worst." He sits back and takes a shuddery breath. Tim can't reconcile this with what he knows of the Riddler.

He gets to his feet. He feels awful, but Bruce probably needs him. He slips back into the pool and fishes his shirt out. He rings it out the best he can and puts it back on. His binder feels too tight and waterlogged. He feels sick.

"Why are you wearing a dress?" he asks Eddie tiredly.

"Why are you wearing a binder?" Eddie asks sarcastically. "No, sorry, I--sorry. Fuck. I need to get out of here. If you don't want help getting home, I'm going."

"Okay," Tim says. "Uh, thanks. For saving me." He turns and starts picking his way through the jungle, toward the door.

Just as he reaches it, there's a rustle, and Bruce, in costume, detaches himself from the darkness. "Tim," he says. "I was just coming back for you." The mismatch of Batman-and-Tim feels almost as painful as the burning in Tim's chest.

"I'm okay," he says. "What happened?"

"I'll fill you in later," Bruce says. "Let's get back to the room."

But Tim can't move. He looks at Bruce, his chest surging with pure terror that Bruce is going to tell him he's not good enough, that he's got to stop. Bruce's expression is completely opaque. Finally he says, "Are you all right, Robin?"

Tim is weak with relief. He nods. "I can do this," he says. "I can do this." He's dizzy with anxiety, trying to cement his right to be here.

"You can," Bruce says.

That's the first Tim gets badly hurt on the job.

_part two: and all she had was the city_

Eddie Nashton has systems. They're so complicated nobody else would understand them, and also, they're not logical. They make sense to Eddie, though. Eddie's life is one of those if/then flowcharts, only it's full of things like, "If you don't count to fifty before bed every night, someone will break into your house" and "If you think about Ivy's phone number head-on, someone will choke you from behind."

It doesn't help that Eddie's house has been broken into, and they have been choked from behind.

Eddie doesn't have a house right now. They haven't had one since they were sixteen, two years ago, and their mom kicked them out. Eddie has a genius-level IQ and they usually sleep in a storage container one of their friends rents down by the docks.

Tonight, Eddie is at a club called the Iceberg Lounge. They usually don't come here, because it's a gangster club, but their date wanted to. The people who come here besides gangsters are crooked cops, and that's who Eddie's here with tonight.

Eddie is trying to ignore their date’s hand on their ass. They're both sitting at the bar and watching a comedian crash and burn. Eddie just hopes nobody gets shot. They're a lot more interested in the cute guy in a suit who's looking at them from down the bar. They've seen him on TV, they think. Really nice eyes.

The owner of the establishment is hanging around the bar today. Everyone knows Oswald. Even Eddie knows Oswald, and they're more comfortable with him than most people. He's crazy, but he's nice to Eddie. He pours them another free drink and ignores their date.

"I'm telling you," Eddie is saying. They've had a few too many drinks already. "You can't prove it."

Oswald shakes his head. "I've been outside Gotham," he says. "Believe me, it is _very_ real."

Eddie shakes their head. They have this theory, see, that nothing outside Gotham is real. They've never crossed the city lines and they never will, because there wouldn't be anything there.

The hot guy in the suit is next to Eddie now. "Even if people can go outside Gotham, is it really _real?_ " he asks.

"Right," Eddie says. "Right, right."

Oswald snorts. "I think the DA here is being a little too poetic."

The cop Eddie's with gives the newcomer a dirty look and tugs on Eddie's arm. "Let's go sit over there."

"You sit over there," Eddie says. They're having too much fun with their newfound friends. The cop mutters and moves off. Eddie's not getting paid tonight. Oh well, this is worth it.

They hang out for another hour after that, just talking, Eddie getting free drinks. The DA, Harvey, is hilarious, and so sweet. Oswald is a beacon of magnanimity.

Then things start to go wrong. Two gorgeous women come in, one of whom Eddie knows. Ivy is usually okay, although she can be cold to anyone who's not a woman. It makes Eddie feel like shit when she's cold to them.

The other woman's name is Talia, and she's just as into the environment as Ivy is. They're talking business with Oswald, and Eddie is trying to slip off with Harvey, when--

"You should perform something, Eddie."

That's Oswald. Who is supposed to be Eddie's friend and is instead someone Eddie is vaguely, desperately in love with and would do anything for.

"I don't have a talent," Eddie says. Not true, they have lots of talents. Just none that are for public consumption.

But nobody listens to them, and pretty soon they're out back with a bunch of women who are all way taller and prettier than them, getting put into a dress. They're drunk past the point of caring. Besides, a dress is okay. They don't mind a dress.

One of the girls gives them diamond earrings, and some other things, all of which look, to Eddie's somewhat trained eye, like real diamonds. That seems like a mistake, and they bat them away.

"Come on," the girl says. "So you look a little less—"

"Trashy? Say it and I'll kill you." Eddie has never killed anyone. So ha. The girl can tell, they think, because her lip curls in a sneer.

"I'm not a girl," Eddie says, which is beside the point that's being made right now.

"Honey, I've seen all kinds of girls."

Eddie's not a girl. Eddie's a riddle.

They wind up on stage in heels they can't stand in (good in dresses, not good in heels). People are laughing and cheering, asking for a song, or a joke. The joke is right here, Eddie wants to say. Obviously. But that doesn't mean anyone has unraveled them.

The person in the crowd whose eyes they keep meeting is not Oswald, or Harvey the DA. It's Ivy, who looks annoyed.

Eddie doesn't remember everything that happens. Maybe they sing? They're mostly thinking about what they could do to all these people. Which is what, exactly? The diamonds are real diamonds, but Eddie's traps and escape rooms don't even kill anyone.

Finally, Ivy helps them off the stage. They stagger against her, hating the heels. They've had worse days, they remind themself. Getting thrown in Arkham by Batman. Bad dates. Pretty similar, when you think about it.

"Riddle me this," they say, and they hate how their voice slurs. They at least need control of that.

"No," Ivy says. "You're going to have some water and we're going to break into a very important safe."

Everything else happens in pieces. There's shooting at the club. Oswald is hurt, Eddie thinks. They can't figure out if the shooting is connected to the plan or not, although Talia seems to be very involved in everything. Next thing they know, they're in a car with Ivy and Talia, speeding across town. By the time they arrive at the hotel, they're sober enough with terror. They understand that Talia is a very dangerous person who wants to rob Bruce Wayne, who is also a very dangerous person. It's not about money. If it were, Eddie would give up their earrings.

And their job is to be the safe-cracker. Because Bruce Wayne doesn't just use normal hotel safes, apparently. Ivy and Talia tried before and it hasn't worked. No, the puzzles are harder than that.

On any other day, Eddie would be excited. Today, they're drunk and tired and scared. They just want to go home, which, again, is not a thing they have right now.

At the hotel, Ivy and Talia are tapping the walls or something, so Eddie wanders away to clear their head. They want more water, but they can't figure out where to get it. They lose their shoes in the hall. The fear is not clearing their head the way they wish it would. Talia keeps coming by to check in. She won't listen to them. They can't stop swearing.

When the kid pops up at the poolside, Eddie feels dizzy with fear. In those days, Eddie still evaluates everything in terms of how much of a threat it is to them. A teenage boy--if he's staying here, a _rich_ teenage boy. He's going to say something. Eddie tells themself to just ignore it.

But all the kid says is, "Oh, hi. I didn't realize anyone else would be in here this time of night." His creaky little voice is familiar, but Eddie can't place it.

Eddie says hi back, because why not.

"I'm Tim," the kid says. He sounds very trans. That's a comfort.

"Eddie."

"What are you all dressed up for?" Tim asks after a minute. Is he being a dick? Eddie doesn't think so.

"It's a long story," they say. "Listen, kid, you don't want to be around here tonight. There's so much bad shit about to go down." Eddie doesn't want to be around here either.

"Huh? What bad shit?"

"Believe me when I tell you I can't communicate that in a clear and concise way," Eddie says.They feel hysterical. There is a riddle here they're not solving, and it's because they can't understand what the riddle is. Or because of the dress, or the diamond earrings. Those things make it hard to think.

"Okay," Tim says. "Weird. Well, I was gonna swim." He isn't dressed to swim, but he takes his shoes off and sits. But instead of swimming, he starts texting. Eddie relaxes and sits too. Maybe they can just...stay here and talk to this kid. Maybe nothing bad will happen.

"I'm having a really shitty night, do you know that?" Eddie says.

"Oh yeah? Why?"

You have no idea, fellow trans kid, Eddie thinks. You're so rich you probably have three houses, and I don't have any. Rich like Bruce Wayne. Right. "I'm supposed to open a safe. But I can't tell you how bad it's going to be if I do. Also. This wasn't the plan. None of this was the plan."

"What was the plan?" The kid, Tim, tilts his head, like he's looking right through Eddie. Eddie doesn't like it. They're too drunk still to be telling people things. But this kid can't be that dangerous. He's a kid

"I just wanted to go out to a club and have some fun," Eddie says. "But it never ends up that way! What's always in front of you but can't be seen?" Eddie should be able to see it by now. It never changes all that much.

"The future," Tim says.

"Yeah," Eddie says. They feel like shit. But they like that he got it right. "That's right." Then they realize what they're looking at, which is that one of the vines hanging from the wall is moving rapidly toward Tim.

Before Eddie has a chance to do more than yell, there are vines everywhere, and gunfire. They throw themself flat on the ground until they can figure out who's shooting and why. 

They're relieved (sort of) to see Talia shooting at Batman, who looks just about as terrifying as usual. Ivy is up near the ceiling, being cradled by one of bigger plants. And Batman is here to ruin everything. Of course he's here. Nothing clicks because Eddie's head is still fuzzy with alcohol and panic, and there's a lot going on around them. Ivy's vines hurl Tim into the pool, and Eddie realizes after a minute that he's not coming up.

"Shit," Eddie whispers.

They tear the dress enough to swim, and they dive into the pool. By the time they haul Tim out, he's not breathing. The fight is dying down, or has moved to the hallway.

"Batman?" Eddie says. Batman is nowhere to be seen. This kid is going to die. Eddie laughs, because what the hell else can they do? They don't remember CPR. They don't know what to do.

They try to remember the basics. Breathing, obviously. Breathing and pushing. If they had scissors, they'd cut the binder off. He probably can't breathe with that on. Okay. After an agonizing minute, it works.

"Fuck," Eddie says, and some other stuff. They're babbling. The kid, now that he's awake, looks surprisingly unshaken. He gets up and looks around.

"I can probably get you home, kid," Eddie says, worried. But this is not a kid who looks like he needs to get home. He's assessing. He's got Batman eyes. It occurs to Eddie to wonder where the kid's parents are.

"No thanks," Tim says. He sounds like Batman, too. Dismissive, rough. "Where's my shirt?"

Tim is mostly focused on where Batman is. Because he thinks Batman will save him, maybe. Eddie tells Tim the little they know and just tries not to panic harder. After Tim gets his shirt from the pool, he turns back to Eddie and says, "Why are you wearing a dress?"

Eddie's mostly sober now, and their temper has recovered. "Why are you wearing a binder?" they snap back. "No, sorry, I--sorry. Fuck. I need to get out of here. If you don't want help getting home, I'm going."

But they don't go. Tim thanks them, and when he moves off through the jungle, Eddie follows him. There's a drumbeat in their head telling them where to step, that if they step wrong, their feet will be shredded by broken glass. There isn't broken glass. It's just their brain.

"Tim."

Eddie freezes. They can't see around the trees, and they press against the closest one, listening. _That_ voice, they know.

"I was just coming back for you."

"I'm okay. What happened?"

It clicks. When Eddie can't see either of them, all they can hear is Batman and Robin.

Eddie covers their mouth and is still, still, still. They barely hear the rest of the conversation.

_part three: no haven safer than the one they tore down_

Tim is good at being Robin. He's good at it right up until he gets fired.

There are other things that happen in between. Things that are his fault, maybe. Things that aren't. He never meant for the Joker to kidnap him. He never meant to shoot the Joker.

It's the tail-end of winter, and Tim wakes up sobbing. It happens before he's even fully awake, his body acting without his permission. The loss of control is even more terrifying, and before he knows it, he's screaming.

No, he's not. He's laughing. Screaming would be better.

Someone is shouting a word he can't understand, until he realizes it's his name.

Dick is shaking and shaking him, eyes bruised with exhaustion. Tim hates it. He doesn't want to see Dick or anyone else. He doesn't want to see his family. They finally let him stay at Dick's house because he couldn't sleep at home, and because they understand now that Dick will protect him. And they don't know what else to do with him. They don't understand how to fix a problem like this.

It's PTSD. He gets that. But how do you handle it when your kid has PTSD because he's a costumed crimefighter and he shot someone dead and you didn't know about any of that?

"Tim," Dick says. It still doesn't sound like a word that applies to him. He gave that up almost right away, to the Joker. Before he gave up Bruce's name, by a long shot.

He looks at his hands. Can't look at Dick. Can't remember where they are. He thinks he's been waking Dick up like this all night long, but he can't remember. He can't look at Dick, Bruce can't look at either of them. Not since Tim pulled the trigger.

Tim feels like one long scream curled in on itself, ready to snap free. He's always been an intensely private person, so this barrage of psychiatrists and doctors feels nearly as damaging as the trauma it's intended to combat.

The next day is cold, even though it's almost spring. Walking to the car, Tim tucks his head down hard as he leans into Dick. His fingers are numb from the wind and from gripping Dick's arm, and his lips are so chapped they're cracked and bleeding. He feels like pieces of a person. It's safer. The whole person is a nightmare.

Dick drives Tim around all day, while Tim is staying with him. Tim sometimes curls up in the backseat of the car and sleeps. It's better than sleeping on Dick's couch at night. The nightmares are less. He wakes up feeling washed-out and sick, but at least he doesn't wake up laughing.

One day when they're going through a drive through, Tim sits up long enough to tell Dick what he wants. When they pull forward, he sees the girl at the window start when she sees him. He didn't think he looked too bad, but he remembers that his head is shaved down to the skin until his hair can grow back black. He must look exhausted. She probably thinks he has cancer or something.

They drive to a dingy little park on the edge of Bludhaven and Tim crawls into the front seat.

"Hey," Dick says. He gives Tim a tired, sideways smile.

Tim nods. He takes the burger from Dick and picks it apart, reassembling it in the right order. Nice that he still does that, he guesses. He keeps finding out other things he doesn't do anymore.

"You get any sleep back there?" Dick asks.

"Do you think he'll let me go back?" Tim asks.

Dick goes pale. "Oh--what? Bruce?"

Obviously Bruce. Dick knows. They all know.

"When I'm ready," Tim says. "When I'm not sick anymore."

Dick rubs his face. "I--Tim, you don't want to go _back_."

That's all Tim wants. He almost died for it. He worse than died for it. Of course he wants to go back. Dick quit, or was fired (that has never been clear) and he's still allowed to fight crime. Steph does it. Why not Tim?

Tim realizes his nails are digging into Dick's arm much too hard, and his teeth are chattering. Dick is looking at him with an awful expression.

Back at Dick's apartment, Tim goes to the bathroom and throws up. Then he looks in the mirror. He doesn't look like anything. Cancer patient, maybe. Bald, but at least the stubble is black. Washed out skin. Dark shadows.

Tim digs in the cabinet behind the mirror. There's not much in there. Concealer. Eyeliner. Painkillers. Ace bandages. Tim remembers when he used to bind with those. He hasn't bothered binding since the Joker thing. He doesn't want to remember he has a body at all.

He digs around until he finds what he wants--lipstick. Left here by someone. Barbara, maybe. Maybe Donna, or Roy. Tim smears it across his lips and looks in the mirror. He looks miserable, but at least he looks like something.

He knows he's not going back. He killed someone, and that's against Bruce's sacred rules. Once you break them, that's it. Steph and Dick's feelings about him don't hinge on the costume, but Bruce's do. Bruce has never cared about Tim; he's cared about Robin, and Robin doesn't shoot people.

Even people who've beaten and raped him, probably. Tim doesn't know. He wishes Jason Todd were alive so he could ask him.

Dick's trying so hard, but Tim doesn't need him, he needs Bruce. He needs Batman. He needs Robin. For weeks he stands in line at the pharmacy with his dad, while his dad asks the pharmacist questions and puts his hand on Tim's shoulder and Tim wants to bite it.

Bruce fired Tim (he didn't say the words, but Tim isn't allowed to come back, so what else could that mean?), but he can't control every little fool in Gotham who wants to put on colors and walk around at night.

Tonight, six months out from his rescue, Tim's just wearing a domino mask and a zip-up sweatshirt. He's been obsessively watching YouTube videos for a week that spin a series of intricate clues, leading him to--

At least, he thinks they do. He could just be losing his mind. The thought is like a trigger, and he feels the laugh like a tickle in his throat that will lead to a cough.

He's in the suburbs, not too far from home. It's later summer, and everything is in bloom. He walks down the sidewalk feeling as if he's floating. There's a gorgeous lawn covered with flowering trees, on which a building carved in intricate stonework rests. He doesn't realize until he's almost past it that it's his old school.

Tim thinks about what this night could turn into. He can almost imagine screams, and a knife in his hand. He shakes it off. That's not what he's here for. He's here for the clues hidden just on the edge of the frame in those videos. He can feel it in his hands, the need to solve them. Whoever put them there wanted them to be solved.

Some of the problems Tim used to have are bigger now. The fear that something bad will happen is now so big that it's almost all-encompassing. Which is insane, because the worst thing that could happen already has. He sometimes has to tap out rhythms before he can move past a task. He sometimes has to count things. Lights off and on. That kind of thing, only he doesn't do well with lights off anymore. Competing needs.

He wonders sometimes how he can hold all of this together in one person. Maybe he's not one person anymore.

He finds the right house. He knows it is, because he followed the clues. It's fully dark, and presses himself against the outside wall, trying to see inside.

There's a light on inside, but just one. It's a shitty-looking living room, not the kind of thing you usually see around here. There's a sagging sofa and a coffee table with an ashtray on it. Sitting on the couch is the Riddler, hunched forward, his small frame all angles. The orange light pools in the hollows of his cheeks, making him ghostly. Tim starts to count.

When he hits fifty two, the number from the videos, he goes in.

"It's all right," Eddie says. "Come in."

Tim knows it's not all right, but he comes in anyway.

"Riddle me this," Eddie says. "Why has no one ever seen Batman's face?"

"Here's the thing," Tim says carefully. He steps outside the tangle of his feelings about Bruce, his feelings about Dick, his feelings about his Dad and Dana and Leslie and Steph--

He isn't a crimefighter anymore. Bruce said he couldn't be. But there's something inside him that needs to come out, one way or another.

"The thing--" Tim shakes his head. "Is that I don't want to talk about Batman. Do you want help on your escape room? I found parts of it in a couple of places downtown. I have ideas."

Eddie raises their eyebrows. "This isn't a threat, is it? You really want to help."

"You left me clues," Tim says. He thinks. Unless he's being crazy.

Eddie nods, softing into a smile. "Yeah. I thought--I don't know. What happened to you wasn't right."

"It wasn't right," Tim says numbly. "But it happened."

"It happens," Eddie corrects. "Still. All the time. It's happened to me, and I'm supposed to be on his side."

So the great tragedy of Tim's life is just something that happens. He feels tired. He can't keep holding it together anymore, pretending to be normal. "I'm going to sit down," he says.

"Cool." Eddie moves over. "I can't believe you found my traps. They're not done. They're not supposed to...come together like that."

"Good at puzzles," Tim says. He's so tired.

"Me too," Eddie says. "But I bet there are some you haven't solved yet. I'm not as obvious as all that."

Tim waits. The Riddler can't wait to tell people things.

"We have more in common than being good at puzzles," Eddie says. "Want to find out?"

_part four: second-best killer i ever have seen_

Eddie works better as part of a team. They also work better when they have all the information. Once they knew who Tim Drake was, they instantly googled everything about him. But three years on, this kid is not the Tim Drake Eddie researched. Since the Joker incident, this kid is someone else entirely.

For one thing, there's the laugh. The first time it happens, they've been hanging out for less than a week. They're walking downtown (Tim won't take buses) and Eddie says, "Hey, did I tell you about the bathrooms back there?" They'd been in one of those retro burger places. "Super fun. Instead of men and women, rockets and moons. Really makes you think. I did _not_ know where to go."

"Heh," Tim says. "Heh. Heh ha haha--" The laugh swings upward, becoming a terrible screech that stops Eddie where they stand. It's _his_ laugh. It is. Pitch-perfect.

Tim wraps his arms around himself, shaking convulsively. People are staring. Tim's lip is bleeding before he can get himself to stop. Eddie is still frozen.

"So," Tim says, looking at Eddie with dark eyes. "Do you still want to hang out with me?"

Eddie forces themself to start breathing again. They don't know if Tim can't see the difference between being the Joker and being his victim, and they don't know how to say it. "Yeah," they say.

Tim nods and wipes the back of his hand across the cut on his lip, staining it red, red.

Eddie's not homeless anymore, but their apartments are never nice. Tim starts spending more and more time at their place, even sleeping on their couch, and they can't work out why at first. His family's loaded. Eddie knows.

One day Eddie's playing a video game while Tim sits quietly and watches--he never wants to play. Eddie decides to ask.

"Hey," they say. They try not to make it a sudden noise, but Tim flinches anyway. "You really don't mind hanging out here?"

"Mm," Tim says. "My parents don't get it. They're just depressed and worried all the time. Why would I want to be around that?"

Eddie can't argue with that. Eddie has seen it all. Yeah, what happened to Tim sucks, but things have sucked for Eddie, too. Getting hurt by the Joker (or whoever) is just part of the bargain.

Eventually Eddie realizes that Tim is living there. He hasn't left in two weeks, and all his stuff is here. Right now his "stuff" is just a toothbrush, a few sets of clothes, deodorant, and a bunch of medicine. It all fits in a duffle bag.

"Are you ever going back?" Eddie asks Tim one night, before going out. Eddie is still doing crime stuff. Tim is just...hanging around and watching.

"Back?" Tim says blankly. "Oh, to my dad's. No. I'm not going back there."

Eddie leaves for the night, feeling uneasy. Tim's only eighteen. Is Eddie doing a bad thing, letting him stay? It wouldn't be the first bad thing Eddie's done, and what if it's not bad?

They narrowly escape being arrested because their head is somewhere else. When they get home, Tim is glued to Eddie's laptop, watching YouTube videos of Batman. Okay. This one is just not going to be clear-cut, then.

One night when Eddie is getting ready, Tim starts getting ready, too, putting on high-top sneakers and black makeup around his eyes, like he's going to put on a domino mask.

"Uh," Eddie says, pausing at the sink, eyeliner in one hand.

Tim just sets his mouth in a line and keeps doing what he's doing. He never does put on a domino, so he just has raccoon makeup ragged around his eyes. He puts his hood up, but he doesn't have any other costume.

Tim goes with Eddie, who's planning to meet a couple of suppliers to get some materials for a new escape room. This one's going to cover two city blocks. It's very clever. Tim follows and hangs around, sticking to the shadows. They're down by the docks, so that's fine. The guys Eddie's meeting give Tim nervous glances the whole time.

"Brought your little girlfriend," one of them says uncertainly.

Nobody has ever accused Eddie of having a girlfriend. "Uh, he's my sidekick," Eddie says with a smile. You always have to smile with these guys. Just be nice and they'll be nice.

The guy snorts. "Okay. You have the money or what?"

When they part ways, Eddie sees the way Tim looks after the two men.

"What are you going to do?" Eddie asks. What are they so worried about? This is Robin.

"Nothing, probably," Tim says.

"Hey, you need a name," Eddie says.

"I have a name," Tim says. Tim has a way of saying things that brooks no argument. He's like Batman that way.

Eddie keeps thinking of them as partners in crime, but most of the crimes they're committing aren't even on the level of what Eddie would do alone. Mostly underage drinking, in Tim's case. They go to a lot of clubs (not clubs like the Iceberg) and Tim orders drink after drink, taking a few sips of each one before forgetting about them.

Somewhere in there, they start hooking up, but that line is blurry, just like moving in was. One night Eddie wakes up with Tim in their bed. He's sound asleep, so Eddie lets him stay. That happens for a few weeks. Half the time he wakes up screaming and crying, and Eddie has to hold him. Eddie's heart feels like it's been punched every time.

One night, about six months in, Eddie wakes up to Tim pressed against him. Eddie will always and forever touch back anyone who touches them, and Tim is hot. Is eighteen vs. twenty-one too big an age-difference? But then Tim's mouth is on their throat, his teeth, and Eddie can't think.

He doesn't know what Tim likes and what will upset him, even outside of the crazy amount of trauma. Both of them are strangers to their bodies in some days.

It all feels like a dream, but then it keeps happening, so that's something. Eddie feels, for the first time in ages, like they have a boyfriend.

Tim is drunk a lot. He's dissociative a lot. Eddie knows that one from talking to Jon, who knows a lot about fear and trauma. Beyond all that, though, Tim is something else. It's like there are knives buried in him, and Eddie doesn't know when they'll reach out and get cut. Tim is sharp and cruel in ways Eddie doesn't expect. He bares his teeth at strangers in stores. He snaps at Eddie. Eddie has seen him bite someone, when they called Eddie a nasty name. There was blood on Tim's teeth.

It's been almost a year. Everything they do feels like a bad decision, but Eddie's never known how to make good ones. They're at a club together, tucked away in a corner. Tim has had a lot to drink. They're talking through the best way for Eddie to make sure a certain puzzle is safe for both them and anyone else who might run into it.

"Although does it have to be?" Eddie asks thoughtfully, their voice almost drowned by the music. "Does it have to be safe for Batman?"

They shouldn't have said it. Tim's body goes stiff under Eddie's arm. "I don't know," he says.

"You're allowed to hate him, you know," Eddie says. "He ruined your life. He's an abusive asshole."

"He wasn't abusive," Tim says.

Eddie, who knows what being in an abusive relationship looks like, laughs. They know Tim's angrier at Batman than at the Joker.

Tim is distant and jittery for the rest of the night. Eventually, he gets up to dance, which Eddie has never seen him do. Tim's body moves, marionette-like, in the crowd. He's still short, and his dark hair has grown out again so he looks like he did when Eddie met him by the pool. His eyes are ringed with makeup again. He looks like anyone.

Then someone jostles him, maybe on purpose, maybe not, and Tim moves so fast Eddie's eyes can barely track it. Tim has the guy on the ground and is punching and punching him, so hard Eddie can hear the sound over the music. People are trying to haul Tim off, but they're getting hit, too.

Eddie unfreezes and moves through the crowd. They get their hand around Tim's wrist and they feel it go limp when Tim's eyes meet theirs. Eddie hauls Tim away and makes a break for it, out the employees-only back door.

They both stop in the alley, panting. Well, Eddie is panting. Tim is laughing and laughing, low and eerie. All Eddie can see is the Joker.

Eventually, Tim straightens up. "Let's go home," he says.

Eddie follows him, silent for once. They've made a mistake.

"Did you ever wonder," Tim says quietly in bed that night, "about doing a job on Bruce Wayne?"

Eddie doesn't answer, frozen with fear.

The next day, Tim is gone. He doesn't answer his phone. There's nothing in the news. Nothing in any of Eddie's back channels. He's just gone. Eddie doesn't hear anything for another two weeks, when he finally tracks Tim back home to his father's house.

Case closed, Eddie figures.

_part five: nobody ever gets away_

In the decades after that, Tim erases every trace of the Joker from himself. He gets a job at Starbucks. He saves up, moves out. He doesn't go to college because the headaches and nightmares make it too hard to function.

Eventually, he moves out of Gotham. He has to, because it's the only way he can sleep. There's too much noise in the city.

He spends every night with his teeth clenched. The suburbs are clean and quiet, and the house has a good security system. Tim's safe. He doesn't feel safe.

Tim erases every trace of Robin. He erases every trace of Tim.

Then one day he sees on twitter that Eddie is working with the GCPD. He loses himself for hours, trying to find out more. Stalking Eddie online. He finds rumors and facts and so much information he almost doesn't know what to do with it. Eddie is terrible at hiding. Tim can feel some of the old feelings seeping back in, but they're the ones he misses. The way he felt when he and Eddie were curled up in bed together. The way the ends of Tim's thoughts looped into the beginning of Eddie's.

But Eddie is in Gotham, and Eddie is part of the world that's been closed to Tim.

He looked over at the carton of eggs on the counter. It's two in the afternoon. Tim was making breakfast at eleven when he started. He doesn't want to start losing time like this.

He lets it go for days. He builds himself a fortress of household chores, projects for work, and even calls to family. Finally, he gives in and makes a new email address. Just in case. He follows Eddie's cases, calls in old favors. Maybe Eddie won't even remember him. Tim's a little taller now. He's on T, and he has a little stubble. No, he won't risk showing up.

Besides, he has this idea that if he tries to go back to Gotham, he won't be able to get in.

When he sees the high-profile string of murders, though, and reads about how stuck the GCPD is, he can't help himself. Right in the middle of breakfast, with an orange juice in one hand, he slowly writes an email on his phone.

He doesn't really expect a response. Eddie writes back, and soon Tim is off on a whole new chapter of his life. He still goes to work (he mostly works from home) and feeds himself and mows the lawn, but now he has this, too. The puzzles he's solving are far away and nobody involved can touch him. It's all so easy.

For months and months, it's easy, but when Tim wakes up laughing one night, he realizes he has to stop.

_part six: too busy being yours to fall for somebody new_

Eddie's brain picks up clues where there aren't any. The clues usually lead to disaster. The riddles are just a way of filling in the space where they think there should be something. The clues always lead back to them.

Eddie goes legit, for a while. Solving crimes is more satisfying than committing them, and not going to Arkham is nice. For years they skip back and forth over the line, until sometimes they're not even sure of what they're doing. The only constant is the clues.

They don't have a degree or any real experience, so it's hard to get hired anywhere legitimate, but a few times they're hired on as a consultant at the GCPD. They hate cops, in the sort of tired way that they hate Harvey and Oswald, but it's good money. Jim Gordon probably feels bad for them.

Eddie's doing well, these days. They're paying their rent and all their utilities. They're taking their medicine. But sometimes the cases get under their skin. One of the cases is especially difficult. Eddie hates murder bullshit, and it's somehow worse when it's not a costumed criminal.

Worse is that Batman is involved. He won't talk to Eddie, but he's on the roof with Gordon every night, with Eddie hearing about his progress secondhand. He's stuck, and so's Eddie.

Until the emails start. At first Eddie thinks it's spam. It's clearly from a burner account (just a series of letters), and at first the body of the email looks like a jumble of random letters and numbers. Eddie's brain, though, starts looking for patterns. It only takes them a minute to realize that it's a clue.

Someone else is working on this case. Not Batman, not the police. Not Eddie. Over the next month, the clues continue. Eddie wonders if it's the murderer and if they, like Eddie, want to be caught.

Then one night Eddie's phone rings. They're asleep, and they gasp awake, suddenly in a different place and time. They still feel flustered when they answer the phone.

"He's going to kill again," the person on the other end says. Male, probably. Deep, rich voice with a hint of squeak. Sounds gay.

"The emails," Eddie says.

"Yes. But you have to hurry." And he tells Eddie where to find the killer.

Eddie calls the station and gets Gordon, who gets Batman. By the time the night is over, the murderer is in custody and nobody else is dead. Eddie wonders if the mysterious caller knew that would be the outcome.

They wonder if they'll ever hear from him again.

But Eddie can't leave things be. Things nag and tug at them. They're considering crossing over to the other side of the law again, and they're restless. They check into the phone number. They scan every detail of the emails.

Ultimately, the answer is handed to them, which they hate. They get another email two weeks later, from another burner address. It says, _I didn't want B involved. Sorry._

It only takes a minute for Eddie to crack that one. All they can think about is the blood on Tim's teeth and their heart starts to race.

Whatever side of the law Eddie is on, Tim's emails and texts find them. Just little things that nudge them in the direction of solving something. Never too much or too little. It lights Eddie on fire.

On night, on the wrong side of the law, they're hanging out at the Iceberg. Oswald is tending bar, which he rarely does himself anymore.

"What'll it be, Eddie?" he asks. He must be in a good mood, because he keeps offering Eddie free drinks.

"I'll just have a G&T," Eddie says. Tim was always drinking straight gin. Fucked up. Eddie fiddles with their phone. They're nervous. It's been a while since he texted.

Oswald raises his eyebrows and pours the drink. "You've been staring at your phone all night," he points out.

"Just waiting for a text from a friend," Eddie says. But really, just because Tim texted this morning doesn't mean he'll do it again. He's turned down meeting up twice. Sometimes he'll go months without getting in touch, and usually it's all business.

"You know," Oswald says, "not that it's any of my business, but Harvey's been eyeing you all night."

Eddie glances down the bar. Harvey. Not so pretty anymore, but way sexier. Owns half of Gotham, at least this week. Eddie looks back at their phone.

"If you spend all your time on--on Tinder, or whatever that is, you're never going to find someone _real_ ," Oswald says.

"Yeah," Eddie says. A text has just come through. It's in another language, Eddie thinks. Time to go. "I'll see you later, Oswald," they say.

Tim never does meet up with them. Eventually, slowly, the texts stop. Eddie never stops jumping when their phone goes off.

_part seven: no one will even steal it if you leave it by the door_

Tim keeps waking up in places he doesn't remember going. Sometimes there's blood on his hands and he can't remember why. Even time, he's in Gotham, and he doesn't remember going there.

Part of him expects the new Batman to show up, but it doesn't happen.

Some invisible switch has been flipped now. All the things that were sleeping in there, all the things that aren't controlled by a switch, have been activated. The nightmares, which had diminished over the years, are back full-force.

He gets a hotel room in Gotham--the hotel where he first met Eddie--and ends up staying. Every time he passes by the doorway to the pool room, he wonders about Eddie. Eddie is probably dead.

This isn't Tim's Gotham. There's a reason he moved away. Everywhere he goes, there are kids with the Joker's face. He feels sick with fear every time he sees one. He's shopping downtown (just trying to find that one soda Eddie used to like) and one of the kids in white makeup comes up next to him. They're outside a bodega, and alarm bells go off in Tim's head.

"Hey, old man," the kid says, jostling against Tim.

"Don't do that," Tim says flatly. He tries to withdraw into himself, but panic explodes in his chest.

"You look lost, old man," the kid says. He jostles Tim again, hard.

Tim isn't afraid anymore. He's not even angry; the feeling is past that. It's gut instinct, and before he knows it, the kid is on the ground. Tim is kneeling over him, hitting him again and again.

It's dark, and the streets are empty. No one is going to stop Tim. But he doesn't want to be the Joker.

He stands up. The kid is bleeding and crying. "You're not the Joker," Tim says, and he doesn't recognize his own voice. It sounds high and twisted.

Walking away, he can't stop laughing. He gets back to the hotel and he finally gets himself to stop by biting the inside of his wrist. He sits with his head in his hands, afraid to look up. He _doesn't_ want to be the Joker. But he doesn't want to be the person who moved to the suburbs and erased himself, either.

It's not easy, being back here. But now that everything has started again, Tim can't get a grip on it and get it to stop. He looks around and sees a culture that fetishizes his trauma. And everyone is so _young_. There's no space for him in this world.

He feels as thin as a knife blade. The nightmares are still there. The flashbacks are still there. He's still totally alone.

He gets an apartment. He buys a new wardrobe. Black, simple. He doesn't watch anything online about the new Batman, who seemed like a nice kid, all in all. He doesn't even feel anxious anymore.

Bruce wanted Tim to quit, but he never did, did he? He just took a long, long vacation. He buys black eyeliner. He thinks about buying a mask, but he's not trying to hide. Now that he's back in Gotham, he finally feels real again. He feels like himself, whoever that is. Nothing back there in the suburbs feels real. Bruce should have known that Tim couldn't exist anywhere else, that he would always get sucked back in. And if he can't be Robin, there aren't a lot of other options left.

He's not losing chunks of time, now. He remembers each painful second, even the ones where he can't feel his arms or his face. He feels like all of his senses have been turned up too high.

The Jokerz are a plague on Gotham. Kids who think it's sexy to look like a rapist and a murderer. A lot of them _are_ rapists and murderers. It's easy to Tim to take them out, bit by bit.

He does that for months. He's careful, and he's quiet, although the laugh never really goes away. The papers can't seem to decide if he's a monster or a vigilante. He hopes that Bruce sees the papers, because it's always about Bruce.

There's a club the Jokerz all go to. Tim thinks it used to exist way back when, as something else. It's been rebranded now, and it's all open spaces and loud stages. Everything is green and purple. The club is called Joker'z. Subtle.

Tim paints his face white very carefully, looking in the mirror in his apartment. He paints his lips red. He hasn't dyed his hair and he's not going to. The other way in which he doesn't look like the Joker is the black makeup all the way out from his eyes to the edges of his face.

Tim goes to the club with a bomb in his pocket. He's just looking. Exploring There are _so many _Jokerz here. They're mostly all young--although not all of them--with varying degrees of makeup. They all make Tim feel edgy.__

__There's a little bit of buzz in the crowd when he walks in. He wonders if they know who he is, and if they do, whether he's in danger. He doesn't think he can assess danger anymore._ _

__One of the kids comes up to him--someone spliced, indeterminate gender, with a slash of purple across their face. Kind of a David Bowie thing?_ _

__"Are you him?" the kid asks._ _

__Tim finds himself pressing his palms together. "Who?" he asks._ _

__"The--" the kid waves a hand. "The Dark Joker or whatever."_ _

__That's what they've come up with? "No," Tim says. "No, don't call me that."_ _

__"But you're the one who's been getting the kids in line," this kid says. As if they're not included in that. "So what do you call yourself?"_ _

__Tim realizes that, like the Joker, he's somehow hurt and scared enough people that they're not going to attack him. He's somehow gotten their respect._ _

__"I don't know," he says. "Drake, I guess."_ _

__"Like a dragon?" the kid asks._ _

__"Sure," Tim says. But he's thinking, _I want Bruce to know.__ _

__The rest of the night is a blur. The sharpness is gone. Tim has a few drinks. The kids give him a wide berth, and he doesn't deliberately talk to anyone. He's the Joker and he didn't mean to be, and he can't even be mad about it, because the Joker is gone._ _

__But Bruce isn't gone. Tim has another drink._ _

__Two hours later, Tim stands outside the gate of Wayne Manor, pressing his palms together, for almost fifteen minutes. He's pinned to the ground with the full and raging certainty that if he gets one little thing wrong, he will have lost his chance._ _

__Tim has those feelings a lot. This time, he's right. Tonight is the night._ _

___part eight: probably still adore you with your hands around my neck_ _ _

__The Joker is back. The first time Eddie hears that on TV, she (that's mostly how she thinks of herself now, a little island of standing up for herself in a sea of backing down) is horrified. She had nightmares for years after the Joker died, nightmares about it not being real, about waking up with him standing next to her bed. Every single person she knew was relieved, even Harley. And now he's back._ _

__But then she pays attention to the clues._ _

__She's not in New Arkham right now. It's as much of a revolving door as ever, and she's been out for three months, bored and pathologized. They don't understand trauma. They don't understand obsession. And they don't understand how either of those things can be leveraged into a skillset._ _

__Eddie scours the feeds for hours, but she's never gotten very comfortable with that, so instead, she goes out and goes hunting. She has to know._ _

__Her chest aches as she gets dressed to go out. She's afraid, but she feels alive in a way she hasn't for years. There's nothing for her here, in this Gotham, but there's nowhere else to go. Gotham is the world._ _

__Here she goes, walking through the Narrows at night, body alight with fear. She feels like she's twenty-one again, which is mostly a bad thing._ _

__The club pulses with sound, a steady beat that gets inside Eddie's body and shakes it. The green suit she hasn't worn since she was a skinny kid. She moves through the crowd, watching the faces as if looking for someone familiar. They're all familiar, in a way. White faces, with bright red lips. Some of them with green hair. All of them young, all of them dancing. None of them are him._ _

__Someone out there tonight is, though, and Eddie has to find him. She has to be sure._ _

__Two drinks in, a girl takes Eddie's hand and pulls her to the back of the club, where there are two bathrooms, doors propped open. Eddie can see yellow light inside. She breaks away from the Joker girl and moves toward the bathroom on the left. Inside are two more Jokerz, twins, smoking something and fixing their makeup. There's a large pot of white makeup on the counter. The mirrors and sinks are smudged with it--white, red, black. It smells like a theater. The smell and the pulsing music together are giving Eddie a headache._ _

__She splashes water on her face and dries it with her sleeve. She can feel the two girls watching her, and it makes panic jolt down her spine. She looks at her own face in the mirror. Short white hair shot through with red, dark circles. She feels as if she's outside her body._ _

__She turns to the girls. "Hey, can I?" She gestures at the makeup._ _

__"Sure," one of them says, sounding bored. "Knock yourself out." The other one laughs._ _

__Eddie daubs on the paint in streaks, feeling even more unreal. Have any of these kids even seen the Joker? Do they know? Can they imagine?_ _

__"Hey," one of the kids says, "Are you spliced? Like, no offense, but are you?"_ _

__"What?" Eddie asks. Her fingers are sticky with makeup._ _

__"You know," the other kid says. Her voice is eerily similar to her twin's. "You've had work done."_ _

__Eddie winces and goes back to fixing her face. She doesn't want to get into it. "The old-fashioned way," she says, and both girls go _Oooooh.__ _

__One of them comes up beside Eddie and offers her eyeliner. "To finish off the look," she says._ _

__Eddie nods and goes her eyeliner. Then she makes her way back into the crowd. She fits in better, now. She can almost pretend to be one of the pack, like when back when she was a teenager and better at pretending._ _

__Then she sees him. He's sitting at the end of the bar, with the green and purple light playing over his face. He's bulked up a lot--Eddie almost doesn't recognize him. But the eyes are the same, ringed with black. A chill runs through Eddie._ _

__"Who is that?" he asks one of the kids. One of the twins._ _

__"Drake," she says. "That's what everyone's saying. But we all know."_ _

__Eddie knows, too, and she's the only one who solved the riddle. Well. No. Batman will solve it. If he's still the old Batman. There's not a consensus on that._ _

__Eddie watches Tim out of the corner of her eye all night. When he gets up to go, she follows him, at a safe distance. But she already knows where Tim is going._ _

__He stops in front of Wayne Manor. Eddie, watching from the treeline further back, doesn't know what Tim's thinking, but it doesn't make a genius to guess. Tim's a monster. He's just not the biggest monster._ _

__Tim puts his hand on the gate. Eddie's whole body tenses. What is she _doing_? Is she going to stop Tim? Help him? When Batman inevitably comes out, is Eddie going to fight him?_ _

__But Batman doesn't come. Tim waits, frozen, and Batman never comes. It's almost an hour before Tim turns around and starts walking back down the long drive._ _

__Eddie steps out of the trees and Tim's head jerks around. Then Eddie sees him relax. His makeup is smudgy now, the black bleeding into the white._ _

__"It's you," Tim says. "You look different."_ _

__Eddie guesses she does. Maybe it's the Joker makeup, or the "splicing," but Tim recognized her. They recognize each other._ _

__"He's not coming," Tim says._ _

__Just like he didn't come at the pool, Eddie thinks. Or during the year they were running around Gotham together. Batman never comes. They have the sudden, irrational thought that Batman is the thing that's not real._ _

__"I know," Eddie says. "Come back to my place."_ _

__Tim nods. "Yeah."_ _

__Back at Eddie's apartment, she pulls Tim into the bathroom and wipes the makeup off both of them. Somewhere on the walk, Tim's tears blurred and smudged the makeup further. He lets Eddie take care of it._ _

__What do you do if you can't confront the person who ruined you? Eddie hasn't, not once. And Tim may have shot the Joker, but the Joker wasn't the one who did this._ _

__"What have you been doing all this time?" Tim asks, looking at himself in the mirror. His eyes still look bruised around the edges._ _

__"This," Eddie says. "More or less. Arkham. Crime. Solving them and committing them. The same thing. You?"_ _

__"Nothing," Tim says. "Living outside Gotham?"_ _

__Eddie knows there is no outside Gotham._ _

__"And yet, here we are," Eddie says, gesturing at the two of them. They match. Collars stained by white makeup, tired, old. Gender weirdos, Jokers. Anxious and compulsive. They've been trying to arrive at the same the solution by two different methods and here they are._ _

__"What's next?" Tim asks, like he thinks the answer is "nothing."_ _

__"Well," Eddie says, weighing her words carefully. "There's always my old consulting business."_ _

__Tim laughs--just that. A normal, slightly incredulous laugh. Eddie watches as he hears himself do it and shuts his mouth on the noise before he realizes it sounds okay._ _

__"Laugh now," Eddie says, "but you'll see. I'm very good at solving problems."_ _

**Author's Note:**

> This idea originally came from my frustration with the idea in BBeyond: ROTJ that Tim (especially Toon Tim) would ever willingly completely walk away like that. I've been trying to rewrite that idea into something useable for probably...almost fifteen years? Anyway, there are bites and pieces of this and were originally written back then.


End file.
